Page 60 of The Two Lives of Lydia Bird

‘I can’t believe you’re getting married in two weeks,’ Elle sighs, sentimental. ‘I wish I could get married again.’

I look up from picking the seal off the champagne. ‘Do you?’

Her jewelled hairslide catches the light as she leans back against the kitchen counter. ‘It’s just so romantic,’ she says, suddenly wistful. ‘The dress, the ceremony, the flowers …’

I love the fact that despite planning weddings almost every weekend at the hotel, she still feels nostalgia for her own.

‘Still to David though, right?’ Dee asks, sitting down at the kitchen table. Elle rolls her eyes, good-natured.

‘Obviously.’

They both clap when I pop the cork.

‘I don’t know if I’ll ever get married,’ Dee says.

Elle looks at me, and then at Dee. ‘I thought things with you and Jonah were pretty serious?’

‘They’re getting there,’ Dee says, accepting the glass I hold towards her. ‘I’m just not sure he’s the marrying type.’

‘But you are?’ I ask.

‘Everyone’s the marrying type,’ Elle says, before Dee can answer. ‘Trust me, I’ve seen all sorts at the hotel. Honestly, there genuinely isn’t a marrying type. It’s more a case of the right time, right person, and bingo, you’re waltzing up the aisle in a meringue.’

Dee huffs softly. ‘Maybe he’s just not a bingo fan then.’

I’m conflicted. Here in this life, Dee is obviously part of my circle. Quite a close part, given that this is my hen night and she’s here in my kitchen with Elle. She must be having more success with Jonah here too, if marriage is on her mind. But then the Jonah she knows here is different, open-hearted and quick to laugh; the man he used to be.

‘Give him time,’ I say. ‘He’s always been more of a thinker. It’ll happen when he’s ready, I’m sure.’

She doesn’t look convinced. ‘Maybe.’

‘Jonah Jones.’ Elle says his name with relish, and then laughs. ‘I had a secret crush on him when I was about sixteen.’

‘You did not!’ I laugh, shocked. She’s never mentioned anything of the sort before.

Pink spots appear on my sister’s cheeks. ‘I never told you. I was embarrassed!’ She drinks half the contents of her glass and then waves it around. ‘What can I say? He had that whole brooding thing going on, all hair and cheekbones.’

I turn away and reach for the bottle to give myself a moment to process the thought of my sister and Jonah Jones. Nope. Not happening.

‘He is handsome, isn’t he?’ Dee says, for all the world like a moony teenage girl.

Elle nods. ‘He’s grown into his face.’

I shoot her a look. ‘Grown into his face?’

She laughs. ‘You know what I mean. He’s got that –’ she points towards her mouth – ‘that Mick Jagger look about him, hasn’t he?’

I can’t say I’ve ever looked at Jonah and thought of Mick Jagger, but I start to laugh because I know what Elle means. His mouth is a fraction too big for his face and he has a kind of louche charisma that can hold a room. Not in the same way Freddie does; he’s energy and heat to Jonah’s laid-back cool. Together they’re night and day, two sides of the same coin. Maybe that’s what’s missing from Jonah in my waking world – he’s lost his heat source.

‘I do love him though,’ Dee says.

Elle and I take a seat either side of her. I smooth my hands over the skirt of my black dress. It’s summer short, party ready and inoffensive, yet I don’t much like it. It’s not something I’d usually choose, and I wonder how I’ve ended up with slightly cool, more conservative clothing tastes here. I’m usually a jeans and T-shirt kind of girl, boho at best. It occurs to me that I’ve still got no clue what my wedding dress is like; how strange and bizarre to not know something like that on my hen night. I don’t even know where it is. At Mum’s, presumably, as I haven’t seen it anywhere here.

‘Want Lydia to say something to him for you?’ Elle offers my services without consultation.

God, I hope she says no.

Dee shakes her shiny curls. ‘How desperate would that make me sound?’

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